


Secret Weapon Double Entendre

by Kisleth, Ringshadow



Series: The Kingfisher and His Marksman [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bad Pickup Lines, Implied Past Violence, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Movie, Prostitution - Past, Scarring, Smut, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 18:31:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisleth/pseuds/Kisleth, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ringshadow/pseuds/Ringshadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started with a contest about bad puns and pickup lines associated with every SHIELD agent's job. Clint has started it so of course he keeps an eye on all the entries. One day he sees none other than Phil Coulson's handwriting and has to confront the man about it. He never would have expected that this would be the result of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret Weapon Double Entendre

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of many role play threads that will be fics. I have roughly 13 saved up in google documents so far waiting to be edited so that they flow like a story.
> 
> This whole verse is mildly AU because of certain character decisions. Clint doesn't hold onto the "Amazing Hawkeye" from his circus days so much as the "World's Greatest Marksman" (he's pretty sick of the bird jokes on top of that). 
> 
> It starts roughly a decade after Clint and Phil met for the first time (in which they ran into each other on their own respective jobs that happened to have the same goal) and after two years of flirting, Clint joined SHIELD. We are currently in 2004, eight years before the Avengers movie (which we will be writing through, but with some of our own twists so the 'verse will become more AU as time goes on).

Clint had started a silly contest about overly cheesy pick-up lines while bored with a “You make me quiver, baby” tacked up on the announcement board in the cafeteria as a joke. A few of the more bored operatives joined in over the week and soon it had gotten out of had, little pieces of paper covering up the boring weekly announcements. All departments began adding theirs and Clint checked it (proudly) every day. Some signed theirs but most did not.

Today, Clint spots very familiar handwriting. Handwriting he’d never mistake for anyone else’s even though his dyslexia is throwing all the letters around the wrong way. It takes him a minute or two of hard concentration to read it: I know a lot about guns, and may I say mine is pretty lethal.

He grabs it and stalks off, grinning. He can’t wait to see Coulson’s face. He’d been found out. There’s a bounce in Clint’s step, getting a late dinner completely forgotten in favor of this. The older man has been steadily avoiding his flirtations for years now (it’s getting a little pathetic on Clint’s end, but he hides it by flirting with others too) and this time, Clint is going to be blunt.

He drops the piece of paper in front of Coulson and waits for some reaction. A slight stiffening in his shoulder is his ticket. “Oh really, sir?” He drawls, trying to hide the grin quirking the corners of his mouth.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Specialist.”

“I would.”

Phil looks up from what he’s doing and looks at Clint, and very slowly lifts an eyebrow in an inquisitive way. “Really, now.”

“Yup,” Clint smirks and waits a few seconds before tacking on, “sir.” He wonders just how far he should push the man’s buttons. It’s not like he works for SHIELD (entirely) so the man doesn’t have any real power over him and his paycheck but… he knows Coulson deserves to be called ‘sir’.

Phil switches what eyebrow he has lifted at that little bit of respect. “Somehow I suspect you don’t mean my skills with firearms.” His voice is light, almost teasing.

“That distinction is completely up ta you.” The tiny smirk that has been growing on his face stretches exponentially. He can’t put into words how much he likes to tease his handler, especially when he can get away with it.

“In that case, until you can tell me what you actually want…” And Phil goes back to typing away at his laptop, smirking. Because he’s patient, that’s why, and he likes it when the other person starts things.

Clint sighs sharply and leans a hip against the older man’s desk. “No fun.” He can’t help but feel a slight thrill at the man’s smirk. He waits for a good ten minutes, scrutinizing the other’s features, before giving in. “I want you, sir.” It’s said near emotionlessly until he falters on the man’s title.

Coulson looks up at Clint over the top of his glasses, and just stares at him for several moments before closing the laptop, not breaking the gaze. That done. he takes off the glasses and sets them on top of his computer, standing easily. He moves suddenly and traps Clint against the table, arms coming down on either side of him and caging him in. “Really.” His voice is calm but laced with curiosity.

Clint hides the alarm on his face and settles back a little more firmly against the desk. It’s just at the right height to press on the tops of his hamstrings, his ass lightly resting on the surface. He forgoes words until he knows his voice will be steady, inspecting Coulson’s face as he settles himself into nonchalance although his pulse is jumping as adrenaline kicks in. It’s just something little. Coulson is just teasing him in return. They’ve done this for years, it shouldn’t be something new. Except that it is. He chews lightly on his tongue as he weighs the risks and decides ‘fuck it’. He swallows, “Yeah, really.”

“Well, I do rather return the interest, and I’d hate to deprive you of something you want.” Coulson’s eyes never leave Clint’s face. He looks too calm and if Clint could think straight he might realize that it is a clear tell to how not-calm he really is. “But I’m not sure you’re entirely comfortable with the… reality of the idea, and I’d hate to… cause undue stress.”

The slight widening of his eyes is the entirety of shock that Clint’ll let himself show. He’s not used to Coulson being like this, but like hell he’s going to let the other know that it unsettles him. Not on the chance that he can get him to keep going. “I don’t think you’ll be too stressful. Not if you elaborate, sir.”

Coulson sighs and steps back slightly, lacing his hands together in front of him, voice losing the weight. “Please do realize, while I’m sure this is more what you’re used to when dealing with me…” His voice is light, barely a normal speaking volume. “And while it is, for the most part, not a mask… you just saying you want me does things to me.” He pauses and gives Clint a look. “Would probably do things to anyone sane. If you want me, well, I’m more than willing to have you. But I’d rather leave rank and file out of it, you understand.” Phil smiles, just a bit. “Just two men, who happen to be attracted to each other. Can you handle that?”

Clint wants to reach out and drag the other man back in close and not let go when he moves away. A slow smirk curls his mouth and his eyes darken with clearly displayed desire. He’s welcome to be open about it, so why bother holding anything back? Unable to not preen a little at the compliment of anyone wanting him, Clint puffs out his chest the tiniest bit. “I understand.” His tongue flicks over his bottom lip, just a flash of deep pink. “I can handle it.”

“Good.” Phil quirks an eyebrow, just barely. “Of course, normally I’m the sort to take someone on a few dates first. Take things easy, wine and dine.”  The eyebrow lifts higher. “But given the situation, rain check?”

Dates. Clint was never good at dating. He avoided it—and feelings—most of the time. “Reverse the order of operations.” Clint states with a half-nod. He tries not to squirm in anticipation. He wants this. Badly. (If he were thinking more with his brain and not his pants he would admit to himself that he wants it all. Dating included. Currently, he doubts he’ll get more than round two.)

Phil smiles gently. “Works for me.” That said, he stepped back into Clint, hands coming to rest on his sides and leaning in to kiss him.

Clint’s skin twitches under Coulson’s hands. He’s always been a bit shivery when it comes to people touching his ribs and the older man’s hands are dangerously close to scars he doesn’t want anyone to touch. He keeps his eyes half open when the older man leans in to press their lips together. He likes to watch Coulson’s expressions almost too much and he can’t help but keep an eye out for other motivations.

Phil honestly has no ulterior motives here. He just leans in and kisses him, warm and gentle. His arms slide around his waist to link behind him, eyes lulling shut. A soft sigh escapes him even if a corner of his brain is watching and on guard for any sort of negative reaction.

Coulson’s arms behind him make him relax a bit more. It shouldn’t because he’s trapped and vulnerable like this but… he trusts him. He hadn’t been expecting such careful kisses, but he likes them. He feels like melting into the older man and never letting him go, even though the notion is laughable.

When Clint relaxes, Phil pushes into it more, stepping into it fully and pressing their bodies flush, hands spreading out on Clint’s lower back and rolling his jaw just barely as his tongue whispers over Clint’s lips. He makes a low noise, inarticulate, as one hand slides up to cup the side of Clint’s face. His fingers are light and barely touching.

Clint can’t really remember anyone being this gentle with him before. It’s strange and almost confusing but he just lets Coulson take the lead. He parts his lips for the older man, no stranger to having himself dominated by teeth and tongue… but something is telling him that won’t happen. Not yet at least.

Phil lets his tongue trace over Clint’s lips a little firmer with each pass before backing off and letting the kiss ease out. He stands there with him, holding him close, nuzzled together and smiling a bit. “You realize I’m not in a rush so if you don’t try to speed me up, this might take up the night.” His voice is a murmur.

Clint makes a small, pleased sound at tongue. He just barely manages to flick his out to get a hint of Coulson’s taste before the other retreats. He tries not to stare at the warmth in the older man’s expression and searches for words to reply. “‘m used to fast, sir.” He remembers quick and rushed orgasms to relieve stress on the job with half-strangers, and shady seductions of targets, and selling himself when his other options were running low… “Takin’ all night sounds… nice.”

Phil’s mouth traces the line of Clint’s jaw slowly before nipping one of his ears, one hand gently cradling the back of Clint’s head and neck, thumb tracing his hairline. “Good. I’m glad. Because that’s very much what I prefer.” That said he kisses Clint again, tongue darting out to find his, other hand rubbing at the small of his back before just barely tucking below the waistband of his pants, holding there.

If Clint could melt any more, he would. He’s never been treated so nicely, so sweetly before and he’s a little lost as to what he should do with it. He can feel Coulson’s hand at his back…sort of. He has a palm width band across his back of scar tissue that he doesn’t think Coulson knows about. It’s not in any files of his as far as he’s seen. But he knows the other man can feel it. It runs from just under the base of his rib cage on his right side down to his left hip.

Phil doesn’t really react to the different texture under his fingers. Hell, he has scars and some are fairly severe; he has no right to judge or even ask. He moves his hands down over Clint’s ass and picks him up briefly to sit him on the edge of the desk. Clint gasps into Coulson’s mouth when he’s suddenly lifted, having not expected it.

Phil leans his body in and holds Clint close, backing off the kiss in favor of kissing down along the side of Clint’s neck. The archer hooks his calf carefully around the back of Phil’s knee to pull himself closer and obligingly tilts his head to the side with a soft sigh. Coulson shrugs out of his jacket as he goes and sets it aside, movements unhurried.

Clint skates his fingers up the man’s arms and blindly traces the muscles up to his neck. He loosens the man’s tie slightly, and slips a few fingers in to tease the soft skin. Phil obligingly pushes up against him, and reaches up and undoes his tie, letting it fall open and sighing at the soft touch to his neck. He runs a gentle line of kisses down the side of Clint’s neck before nipping, just barely, nowhere near hard enough to mark.

Clint sighs softly at the press of lips against the sensitive skin of his neck. He grips Coulson’s tie in one hand to keep him at his neck, the other slipping under his shirt to palm his shoulder gently. He turns his head slightly to brush his lips over the man’s temple, the only thing he could reach.

Phil’s hands are starting to wander now, stroking over Clint’s body slowly, down his back then up his sides. The younger man enjoys Coulson’s wandering hands until they reach his ribs and suddenly his hands have snapped down to grab the other’s arms.

Grey-blue eyes look a little scared, a little angered and a little sick but none of it is directed to Coulson personally. “Sorry,” his voice is rough. He lifts the man’s hands and kisses each palm. It’s more of a gesture to calm himself than to reassure Phil. “Not… not my ribs. Not the sides at least.” He gently guides his hands to show where the okay zones are. The ones to avoid stretch from the bottom floating rib up to his nipple and around back to the downward point of his shoulder blades on each side.

It seems like a pretty big area to declare no-touch but Phil doesn’t argue, hands moving to trace the lines of his shoulders and collar bones instead before pulling him into another soft kiss. Clint’s about to apologize again when Phil kisses him silent. He closes his eyes and just focuses on kissing him and nothing else.

“That’s fine. Whatever you prefer.” Phil smiles, trying to be reassuring and pull him away from the flick of fear he’d seen in the other man’s eyes. “On that note… want my shirt off?” He can hear Clint hold back a whine when he pulled away to offer to remove his shirt.

“May I?”

Coulson smiles and deftly untucks his shirt tails. “Of course you may.” That said, he leans back in for another kiss, one hand gently cradling at the back of Clint’s neck and skull, the other coming to rest on one of his legs, thumb idly stroking there.

Clint can’t stop himself from smiling into the kiss and he can feel Phil smiling back. He lifts his right hand to the man’s cheek, cupping his jaw and gently stroking over his cheekbone with the side of his thumb. The free hand deftly pops the buttons, pausing to caress the revealed flesh with each one.

Phil pushes more into the embrace when he’s touched, skin twitching a bit under Clint’s calloused fingers. He has muscle, the heavy functional sort, and there’s hints of what might have been a lighter and more defined build like his physical regimen has changed recently. He also has scars; a lot of scars in stripes of healed skin and even what might be a few healed gunshots.

Clint likes the scars and to show his appreciation, he breaks the kiss after a teasing slide of his tongue over Coulson’s. He lowers his head and kisses the closest scar, trailing his tongue along long ones and placing gentle, sucking kisses on old punctures.

Phil jumps a bit as he’s more surprised than anything else and ends up burying one hand into Clint’s hair. His fingertips rub over his scalp. He lets out a shuddering sigh, trailing into a faint note of appreciation and pleasure. The younger man slips both hands around Phil’s waist and slides them up his sides and over his chest to carefully push his shirt off. His skin prickles under the attention, shrugging out of the shirt when prompted, dropping it aside on the desk and smoothing his free hand along the top of Clint’s back.

Clint smirks, clearly proud of himself for making Phil react like that as he gently nips the skin over his sternum. He’s had to scoot back on the desk considerably as he kissed down his chest. His ass rests against the corner of Phil’s laptop near-uncomfortably. “Maybe,” he begins, licking up the bared chest slowly, “we should move this to the couch?”

Phil starts a bit at Clint’s voice, then laughs sheepishly. “Yeah, we probably should.” He dips down and steals another quick kiss, then steps away to walk in that direction, waiting for Clint to hop off the desk and follow. He turns in the process, showing a tattoo between his shoulder blades. Captain America’s shield, carefully rendered, though a bit faded and in need of fresh ink.

Clint chuckles softly at the revealed tattoo, but he can’t really talk as he has some of his own. He gently touches Coulson’s biceps to make him pause and leans in to trace the rings of the shield with his tongue. Phil pauses, then gasps and startles in surprise, shoulders rounding into the attention, goosebumps coming up immediately. He kisses the star after his hands slip down to the older man’s hips and he gently nudges him forward so they can finish making it to the couch.

Phil staggers a bit when nudged forward, but makes it to the couch, turning and flopping down, grabbing one of Clint’s hands to pull him close, hands tugging at his shirt gently. His free hand slips under it to settle on one of Clint’s hips, thumb tracing along the skin at the waistband of his jeans.

Clint smiles down at him and straddles his handler, pleased when he grins in return. The inside of his knees rest on either hip as he lightly rests his weight on the man’s lap. His legs still hold him up a little and his thighs flex appetizingly as result. He looks mildly apprehensive for a second before speaking, “Ya can take my shirt off, if y’want.” It’s just a soft and faded black tee. It clearly has seen some time (and a couple splotches of bleach).

Phil wraps his arms around Clint’s waist and tries not to linger about how perfect this is to him. His hands skim up Clint’s sides and take the shirt with it, pulling away so he doesn’t touch the zones Clint wanted left alone, eventually stretching to pull the shirt fully over the other man’s head and arms, dropping it aside.

Clint’s not shy of the marks he’s earned over the years. He has his own jagged white lines and pockmarks all with stories shared in files that Coulson himself has reviewed. But over his ribs, the area he doesn’t let Coulson touch… there are thick stripes. Perfectly straight cuts, all even rectangles that dip in. If Phil is a smart man, and he is, he just might realize what could have caused such scars. Someone had either drugged Clint out of his mind, or bound him solidly, or both… and then they had removed slices of Clint skin. To do what with, he could only guess… or ask.

Clint meets Phil’s eyes squarely and silently asks him to either ask about it or completely forget it. He doesn’t want it to be an elephant in the room. Phil says nothing, silently taking him with warm admiring eyes, hands settling back to Clint’s hips. Seeing the pensive stare, he smiles gently and leans in, pressing a soft open mouthed kiss to one of the marks before reaching up to to pull him down gently. “You fucking gorgeous creature.” He whispers over Clint’s lips before kissing him.

Clint lets out a breath that he didn’t know he’d been holding through his nose as my pushes up eagerly into Phil’s kiss. He’s back to cupping the older man’s face and stroking along his cheeks with rough thumbs. He kisses back a little rushed, a little fervent. His greatest anxiety has passed, he’ll be fine with anything else now. He smiles into the kiss for a moment before deepening it, his lips parted and his tongue teasing.

Phil’s hands settle at the small of Clint’s back. He tries to slow the kiss down a bit after a few breaths to make it lazy and easy and passionate, tongue dancing out to meet Clint’s, his fingers stroking along his lower spine. Phil manages to relax Clint easily and the younger man isn’t sure how. He slows the kiss when Phil demands it, making a tiny noise of complaint. He doesn’t want to slow down now, he just wants to push a little more. A little harder. He rolls his hips against Phil. He’s not close enough for contact, but his ass does rub against the man’s thighs in what he hopes is an appetizing way.

Phil laughs when Clint gets demanding and needy, delighted, and agreeably speeds the embrace back up, backing up to nip Clint’s lower lip before diving back into it. The movement of Clint’s hips makes him groan into the kiss, even if there’s barely any contact between him, it makes his hips come off the couch slightly in an echo of the motion, earning a breathless chuckle from Clint.

Clint shivers at the groan. He loves hearing the noises he can elicit from the people he spends the night with. He slips his hands down Phil’s back and grasps two handfuls of the man’s ass. He tugs him close, toward the front of the couch, so he can rub against him.

Phil snickers, moving when he’s prompted. A gasp tears out of his throat at the sudden contact. Oh yeah, he’s definitely interested, and he returns the ass grab happily, pulling him in tight and pushing his hips up into the attention. He breaks the kiss and looks up at Clint, eyes dark and soft. “I am really, really tempted to put you under me right now.” He murmurs.

Clint pushes his hips back against Coulson’s hands before bucking forward. He can’t decide which he likes better. “Oh fuck, do it. Please.” Clint begs halfway to breathless. He wants more of this. Going slow is just too… slow.

Phil hooks his hands under Clint’s thighs gently and moves them, Clint ending up on his back on the couch with Phil propped over him. Phil shifts, straddling over him and leaning down to kiss him again. One hand brushes over Clint’s jawline before moving to brace himself over Clint’s head, propping him up on his arms easily.

Clint smirks up at the man as his hands stroke down to his hips. He grinds himself up against Phil’s ass and bites his lip, tilting his head back. Their groins are hot as they rub and Clint can’t stop himself from clutching tighter. “Goddamn, I want you.”

Phil smirks and bites his way down Clint’s neck, not hard enough to leave marks but it’s a close thing. He nuzzles into the hollow of the archer’s throat, a hand stroking down his body to cup his erection. He palms the thick line of head lightly. “I like a slow build up sometimes but I could be convinced to skip to the main event…” He licks Clint’s neck slowly.

Clint grinds up into Coulson’s palm with a hungry whine. His head is tilted as far as he can get it, and after a moment of tense alignment, his spine cracks. Chuckling off his embarrassment, Clint pulls the older man’s hips closer. “I think skippin’ ahead would be in your best interest, sir.”

Phil snorts and pushes off. “Lose your clothes then.” He steps away, and comes back a few moments later carrying a messenger bag, sitting down on the edge of the couch and unlacing out of his boots. His hands move completely on automatic, setting his boots aside then standing to get out of his pants, half an eye on Clint the entire time.

Clint is far less professional. He curls his legs into his chest and tugs the laces until the ties of his combat boots are undone. With short, jerky movements, he loosens the laces and kicks his boots off  over his head to land just aside the arm of the couch. The younger man slips his hands under his waistband and all it takes is his hands sliding down his legs to remove pants, boxers and socks. He doesn’t bother with folding them and if Coulson does, he just might go crazy.

Coulson is regimental, and undressing the rest of the way reveals another tattoo, a rather extensive and detailed piece of art wrapping his left leg. It’s a firebird; the body and wings are above his knee and the tail wraps in a spiral down his calf to his ankle. The colors are appropriately bright, a lot of orange, red, and yellow and some deep shadows of blue and purple as well. A set of dates is worked into the curls of flame in the wings.

Clint gives the tattoo a long, appreciative look. He himself has tattoos, but most are small and he’d gotten them while young and still part of the circus. He has two sets of crossed arrows, one per hand, on the web between thumb and index finger. The webbing between all other fingers bore only one arrow, all pointing in the same direction of his fingers themselves. Lastly, he has a QR code on the back of his neck that—if scanned—says: Property of Philip J. Coulson. But only he knows that.

That said, Phil pays his tattoo absolutely no mind and basically falls upon Clint once they’re both undressed. He kisses him again, hands all over the place and stroking down Clint’s torso. The archer welcomingly pulls Phil into the circle of his arms, holding him tight against him as he returns the kiss with fervor. Phil traces muscle lines in broad warm strokes of his fingers and palms and Clint relaxes his arms as his handler’s hands wander and glides his palms down to stroke along the older man’s thighs soothingly.

Phil murmurs appreciatively as his muscles shiver under the gentle touches. One of his hands shifts to lace with one of Clint’s, thumb stroking over his knuckles and fingers slowly, pulling back just enough to nuzzle and nibble, eyes barely slitting open.“Tattoo’s a long, long story. I’ll tell you later if you really want to know.” He leans back into the kiss, tongue darting out, eyes shutting again.

“I do,” Clint blurts just before his mouth is covered with the man’s lips. He groans softly and squeezes his thigh a little more desperately. He rocks his hips up to grind their erections together as he breathes heavily through his nose so he doesn’t have to stop kissing Phil.

Phil makes a noise into the kiss when they’re ground together, something tiny and honest and desperate before it rolls into a purr of pleasure. Clint breaks the kiss to nip and flick his tongue along Coulson’s jaw and throat. “More.” He whispers as his fingers slide up to the other man’s ass and grip firmly. “Please, I want more. Need more.”

He doesn’t protest the kiss being broken, tilting his head back and to the side and shuddering at the feel of Clint’s tongue. The needy words and gripping hands send heat down his spine. His hips twitch once as he shifts to nip one of Clint’s ears before leaning and grabbing for his messenger bag.

He knows where everything is because dammit, be prepared. You never know (but it was such a low possibility on his list), but what he’s looking for had gotten buried anyway. Eventually his hand comes out with lube and condoms, his mouth meanwhile nipping a line down the side of his archer’s neck.

Personally, Clint is and isn’t a fan of condoms. He very much prefers the skin on skin contact, but also likes the ease of cleaning up. He wraps his fingers around the hand that holds the lube. “Sir,” he still can’t bring himself to say ‘Phil’. The older man hasn’t expressly told him that it’s okay, so he won’t take the liberty. “If ya… if ya want… ‘m clean.” He lets the offer hang.

Being called sir in this situation sends Phil in two directions, one part of his brain just finding that hot, so hot, the other pointing out that might not be the effect Clint’s actually going for and that it might just be kind of an awkward thing. Phil leans down and kisses him again, pulling back to speak quietly. “You can call me Phil if you want. Should have said that earlier really.” He half smiles. “I’m also clean, and I would love to take you up on that offer.”

“Ph-Phil.” Clint can’t stop the hitch in his throat. It’s almost too much, this privilege. To be allowed to address him so familiarly (despite knowing him for nearly a decade now), coupled with being entirely naked and about to fuck, is damn-near overwhelming. “Yes, fuck, Ph-Phil, please.” He idly wonders if he’ll manage to say his name without stuttering anytime soon. He rocks his hips up against the older man as he comes to the conclusion that he probably won’t.

Goddamn, that’s just… ridiculously hot, the fact that Clint can barely get his name out. That’s something he’s going to remember for a long time, and he leans heavily on one arm, kissing Clint again. He draws it out, makes it tender with just the barest hint of tongue and teeth, trying to keep Clint’s attention. His other hand finally fumbles the goddamn bottle of lube open and his now slick hand slips under the younger man’s body. Phil moves slow as Clint lifts his hips obligingly to help him find his target. He massages the ring of muscle, patient because he is not going to cause pain. He’d never forgive himself if he did.

Clint groans loud and unashamed into Phil’s mouth. His chest clenches and makes it hard to breathe. He nips the older man’s lip as one leg drops off the couch to give him plenty of room. With Phil straddling him he’d thought it would be going the other way around but he’s not picky. To be honest, he prefers it this way but he’s fantasized about his handler so much that he’s gone through just about every combination of anything they could do.

When it becomes clear that the slick fingers are only going to stroke over the puckering of muscle instead of slipping in, he keens softly in protest. “Ph-Phil, please. More. Fuck, I fuckin’ need more. Please, Ph-Phil, please.”

“As you wish.” His voice is barely a murmur, nipping his way along Clint’s jaw back to one of his ears, letting out a slow breath. His body’s not real happy about the pace either, he’s aching and has to constantly hold himself back and not just fall on Clint and try to consume him. As it is, he has to force the arm he’s leaning on not to jitter with repressed anticipation when one of his fingers slips in and curls just barely before drawing back out.

Clint lifts his hips to meet the finger, raising up on the heel still on the couch. His muscles flex under Phil and the younger man grips his thighs in case he might slide down his stomach. He throws his head back and releases a strangled groan. Just one finger is too little. There is no burning sensation and right now Clint wants a little pain to keep him from coming too soon. How can he resist with his lap full of the man he’s wanted for years? His self control has been wearing thin the whole time. “Please, s—Ph-Phil. More. Moremoremore.” He digs his fingers into the muscles of the older man’s legs. “‘m not breakable, dammit. Gimme more.”

Phil’s shaking and wondering how the hell he missed this, awestruck by how much he’s wanted, how demanding and needy Clint is, and barely thinks about what he’s doing, making it two fingers on the next stroke inward and rocking his hand. His breath is hot and fast against Clint’s neck and shoulder, biting lightly. “How long have I been totally missing this?” He asks this softly, curling his fingers again, searching. “How long have I been blind?”

The low burn of stretching muscles nearly makes Clint melt into the couch. A low moan rumbles in his chest and up to Phil’s mouth on him. His hands skitter over the older man’s thighs, stroking over the reddening marks from his hands gripping so tight. Shuddering at the soft bite, he teasingly brushes his fingertips over Phil’s erection.

Phil can’t stop his hips from jumping into the attention, pressing into Clint’s hand in a desperate bid for more contact, feeling the younger man’s body react as he found what he was looking for.

“A-an…” Clint has to pause at the surge of feeling as fingers near the inner wall over his prostate. “An embarrassin’ly long time, sir.” He wants to ask him to bite again, but instead just arches his neck invitingly. He wants to be marked. He wants Phil to stake a claim on him because he hasn’t wanted anyone else for as long as he’s been under SHIELD’s employ.

“Ahh. I admit.. I’ve been ignoring my attraction to you for... some time…” He takes the invitation, mouth tracing over his neck then latching on near the base, tongue lapping out and teeth dragging as his fingers curl and massage inside him.

Clint shudders under the attentions of hands and mouth after Phil’s admission. This is all quickly becoming too much and he swats the older man’s thigh playfully with one hand as the other grips the cock in his hand firmly. “H-hey. Unless ya want this over really fuckin’ soon, ya’ll ease b-back a bit.” He’s panting lightly and his voice cracks at least once.

Phil swallows the whine but yeah, he pulls his hand back slowly and rests it on one of Clint’s legs, trying to calm his breathing. “Yeah. Agreed. I guess we’re both a bit wound up.” His choked off snicker is muffled against Clint’s neck below one of his ears, hips still nudging into the attention. He’s just trying to breathe, just breathe, calm down.

Clint releases Phil’s erection in favor of stroking over his back. “Just focus on stretchin’ me, yeah? I wanna come when yer inside me.” He strokes the older man slowly, his fingers loose. He doesn’t want to bring the other man too close, but he does want to keep him interested for the main event.

All Phil can manage is a low drawn out groan of “Hell, yes”, fingers slipping back inside of Clint. He rocks his hand slow and easy, lets his fingers scissor open a bit. His mouth wanders, traces the lines of his archer’s throat and shoulders, nibbling at his ear lobes. He listens and watches for any sound or reaction, intent on learning Clint’s body.

Clint can’t control the bucking of his hips. He really just wants more and more until Phil can fold him in half and fuck him for all he’s worth. It takes only a few seconds before he realizes that he’s said all of that out loud. “Ph-Phil, y’know… y’know ya wanna. Please, please just fuck me.” It’ll sting some, he knows it’s too soon not to hurt somewhat. He doesn’t care. He wants it.

Dirty talk and begging. Yup, that’s it. Clint’s trying to kill him. “Oh god, do I wanna.” He replies after getting some self control back, slowly pulling his hand back. It only takes a few moments to deal with the lube, adjusting how they’re positioned until he’s on target. It takes every ounce of willpower to move as slowly as possible, slipping inside just barely, letting out a slow breath.

Clint makes sure that his leg are hooked around Phil’s arms. He means it when he says that he wants the older man to fold him in half. He moans softly at the barest entrance and nudges Phil’s back with his heels. “Ph-Phil. More. I need more, I need y-ya to gimme more.”

“I knew you were flexible but my goooood…” Phil nearly whimpers and he gladly obliges Clint’s request, letting himself get dragged down. It’s slow and careful but he’s relentless, making it one very, very slow thrust until their hips connect. Phil bows his head and shudders, breathing hard, willpower going to pieces along with the rest of his mind but clinging madly to the thought, wait, wait, wait, stay, let Clint tell you to move.

The pain is sharp and hot at first. It’s a good pain. A pain that Clint had missed because his body knows what’s coming. It knows what will happen. His hips twitch slightly as Phil comes to a rest, fully seated. A soft moan bubbles up from his throat and he leans in to peck the older man’s forehead as he bows toward him. “I’m a contortionist, Handsome.” He murmurs breathlessly, chuckling. He lets himself adjust for a minute or so before rolling his hips experimentally. “Can do a lot more’n just this…”

“I swear, you found a list of things I find unbearably hot and you’re just working your way down it.” He shudders again, flushing hot under the forehead peck. His hips roll to compliment Clint’s, easy and careful, exhaling shakily. “You do whatever you want, beautiful, I’ll try to keep up.”

“Contortionist is in my file, sir.” He stresses Phil’s title as he thrusts up again him, pulling him as deep as he can with his heels. He groans faintly and shudders at the almost teasing pass by his prostate. “I’m gonna hold to the theory that you just read that and decided to make kinks from it.”

Phil almost laughs because yeah like he was thinking about Clint’s file when the reality is much more interesting. He leans forward, and captures Clint’s mouth in a hard, hungry kiss. Being welcomed in so deep just becomes an excuse to get more assertive and his hips pull back and reconnect. His moan is muffled into the kiss and he moves again, thrusts slow and long.

Clint groans into the kiss and his hands raise to cup the back of the older man’s head. His thighs tighten around Phil briefly, relaxing when he moves to pull back. The younger draws in a sharp breath through his nose, not wanting to break the kiss. He smooths his hands down over Phil’s back to feel the dips and rises of muscle. A soft whine escapes his throat as Coulson presses back into him. He breaks the kiss. “Ph-Phil…” He shudders, “fuck, more, please more.” It’s still an uncomfortable pressure to a degree but the fact that it’s this man inside him, this man that he’s wanted for so damn long… Clint knows that Phil will take his time. The discomfort will leave before Phil gets too rough.

Phil nibbles along the line of Clint’s jaw, just barely using his teeth. The pleading words sends a rush of fire down his back, electric want and need, somehow even more than he’d already been drowning in. But he still can’t bring himself to be anything more than gentle, even as the careful thrusts are making his whole body ache. Clint feels wonderful under him, around him, but after ages of trying to carefully ignore his want for the other man, his body just wants more, more more more, and the darker part of his mind looks out and hisses claim him.

He pushes all of that back, nuzzles the younger man, letting some of his body weight just barely come into the equation, a little bit of force on the next thrust.

Clint moves his hips desperately with Phil’s. Every thrust makes him grind his hips up and roll them in tight little circles for an extra boost. It’s driving him nuts, this slow pace. It doesn’t take long for the pain to fade, even though he had been enjoying it. He’s so hard it’s borderline painful and he wants more and Phil isn’t giving it to him. He needs to bump up his game.

“Ph-Phil…” He tilts his head to nip at his neck as the elder does the same to him. “Harder. Please, harder.” Begging should work, right? It seemed to work before and if it doesn’t he can try other means and eventually just roll them over and ride him like no tomorrow. “Fuck. Me. Harder.” He nips his earlobe to punctuate his demand. “Fuckin’ pound me into the couch, sir, I wanna feel it tomorrow. I want your marks on me…”

Phil’s hands tighten down on the couch where he’s leaning and he responds, no real thought involved or any consideration. Clint wants so he obliges, hips snapping forward and driving into him, groaning in relief.

The first snap of his hips makes Clint moan. He can’t stop the sound from his throat, he just wants it that badly. His cock bounces against his stomach and if he had any presence of mind other than what Phil’s doing to him he might feel the precome leaking all over his abdomen. The slap of skin together in rhythm makes Clint’s head swim as the older man angles and re-angles his hips.

It’s far too easy to lose himself and get totally absorbed in a few precious moments, because the rest of the world dropped off of Phil’s personal radar because nothing mattered except making good on what Clint wanted. His hips stroke hard and slow, arching his back and putting his body weight into it as he hunts for that sweet spot he found with his fingers, breathing starting to come in low ragged gasps of pleasure.

Clint grins like a madman, knowing just what Phil is trying to do. He arches his back and adjusts his hips trying to help him—they manage to get the perfect angle on a particularly hard thrust and Clint’s vision greys out at the edge. “Fuck, there.” His fingers scrabble over the older man’s back until he just grips his biceps and links his ankles at the small of his lover’s back. “Right fuckin’ there, please, just… Hard. Fast.” He leans up and murmurs in Phil’s ear. “Break me.”

Phil growls and any desire to be gentle and tender disappears under a crash of dark want, the last bit of his willpower totally giving up at Clint’s words. “Your wish..” He rears up, braces his hands against the underside of Clint’s thighs to fold him up tighter, readjusting to stay on target. “Is my fuckin’ command right now.”

Clint’s knees are pressed into his shoulders, but it’s okay. It’s more than okay. He loves when he’s stretched, all the tension of muscles feels so good. It’s one of the reasons why he enjoys being a contortionist. But now the tension isn’t just the stretch, it’s Phil pounding into Clint’s prostate until he’s a trembling mess. He can barely control his hands as they shake. He just touches whatever he can reach. He wants everything the older man is offering, and right now it’s gearing up to be a mind-blowing orgasm.

Phil lets go, hips falling hard and fast, fingers digging into Clint’s legs. His head falls back, eyes sliding shut and losing himself in focusing on what he’s doing, in how good the younger man feels under and around him, and fuck they could have done this ages ago if he’d been brave enough to say something instead of electing not to open his goddamn mouth… No matter, he’s willing to try to make up some lost time, prove he’s worth Clint taking the chance.

The archer watches Phil’s head fall back and he wants to reach up and trace the column of his throat with his tongue. He can’t of course, he’s shoved against the couch too hard and each thrust feels like he’s going to be put through it. He clenches hard around the older man at a particularly hard thrust. “F-fuck. Oh my fuckin’—” He bucks against Phil. “Nngh, s-so… close.” Phil hasn’t even touched him, just assaulting his insides. However, folded like this, it’s almost enough to simulate being stroked the way it’s sandwiched between his folded self. His cock has almost purpled with the amount of blood in it, his stomach a sticky, coated mess.

Clint’s body clenching up around him, gripping him hard, nearly ends him. As it is, he gasps and whines, the noise trailing out into a groan of pleasure as he lets his eyes reopen and looks down at the younger man. And damn, that’s satisfying and they haven’t even come yet, the fact that Clint is shaking and leaking but still trying to move with him. The trembling hands gripping at him makes him want to grab those hands and pin him down, but no, they’re both on borrowed time and he knows it.

He shifts slightly, grinds against Clint and gets a hand free, staring into the archer’s eyes as he very deliberately licks a stripe along his palm, blows on it, then reaches to gently curl his hand around Clint’s cock as his hips move again. It’s slow, hard as he can manage, self indulgent but fuck he is right on the knife’s edge.

Clint watches Phil lick his hand and a soft keen escapes his throat. He’s flushed and his eyes are glazed with blown pupils. He’s so far gone but he knows what Phil’s about to do and god does he want it. A stream of babbling drips from his lips, mostly stutters of the older man’s name with please interjected at regular intervals in a trembling rush. As soon as the older man grips him the words stop and he has to fight to breathe. He’s just seconds, he’s teetering on the edge…

After a few strokes, Phil’s hand slides up to the head of his cock and Clint’s vision goes white as his entire body tenses. Phil’s name is a ragged and strangled shout as synapses fire off and electricity shoots through his entire body. He clenches mercilessly around Phil’s cock inside him, his whole body tensing. He shoots over Phil’s hand and his stomach and chest. It’s so intense that he blacks out.

Phil arches back, rigid, all of his muscles locking up and head tilting back again. The strangle-tight grip around him is wonderful and he caves to it immediately, singing out Clint’s name in a low moaning wail. He’s gasping for air, listening to white noise and his heartbeat in his ears as he slumps, just barely managing to prop himself up above Clint for a moment before giving up. He collapses fully, leaning his face against Clint’s neck and collarbone, going limp and shivering. He’s hazy feeling, groggy, but he still leans up just slightly and plants a kiss on the younger man’s jawbone before relaxing back out, waiting for his muscles to check back in and start working.

The warm press of lips to his jawbone make him hum softly and he returns with a kiss to Coulson’s forehead. When Phil relaxes and finally slides out, Clint gets his wits about him enough to unfold himself so he’s laying down like a normal human being and not some freaky, living origami. He releases a silent, breathy chuckle and wraps his arms around the older man. What he’d do, what he’d give up to have this man every day even if it were only to hold him in his arms.

Phil stirs and moves to allow Clint to unfold, staying relaxed for a few moments more on top of him before moving an arm and fishing at his messenger bag again, yawning once. His hand comes out with a clean washcloth and some wet wipes, and he pushes to a partial seated position, seeing about cleaning them up some.

Clint smiles softly at the sweet gesture from Coulson to clean them both up. He’s glad that he’s unable to speak right now. He’d probably spout hilarious and idiotic things that he’d regret later. Things that would open him up and bare his fleshy underside way more than letting Phil pound him into ecstasy. So he’ll keep his mouth shut and no one will have to know that he’s in love. He doesn’t deserve it anyway, he’s wronged too many, hurt too many, destroyed too much of other’s happiness. Just having this one night is plenty for him…

Except that it’s not. Clint hates this. His head is so clear now and it’s taking everything to keep himself boneless, to keep himself there. He can’t stop thinking that this is and isn’t a mistake. It is because he can’t let himself have this ever again. He just can’t. He doesn’t deserve Phil nor the happiness being with him brings. It’s not enough, he wants more. He actually wants the same place to return to every night, a place to call home. It’s the first time ever that he wants something like this and… he wants Phil to be a part of it.

Phil moves them both, bringing Clint out of his thoughts, and rolls them onto their sides and adjusts himself so he can nuzzle the top of Clint’s head, both arms and a leg wrapped around him possessively. The archer lets Phil manhandle him into a better position to cuddle. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep his smile back when Phil heaves out a heavy content sigh. “So. Do we get to do this again in the future or was this a one time offer?” His voice is a content, sleepy, affectionate murmur.

Clint had just settled against him and kissed over Phil’s chest and collarbone when the question almost makes him tense up. Phil turns his head to press a gentle kiss to one of Clint’s temples in response and inadvertently soothes his momentary fret. Clint moves closer into Phil and the warm press of their naked bodies together is enough to relax him the rest of the way. He melts against the other, slipping an arm around him and pressing his thigh between the man’s legs. Phil has to smile when Clint settles against him, warm and relaxed, and the fingers of one hand gently plays between the archer’s shoulders. Clint rolls his shoulders a little when the hand starts stroking along his spine, it tickles him slightly.

“You can have me however y’want, as often as y’want, sir,” Clint whispers against Phil’s chest.

His words make the older man pause, opening and closing his mouth as he hunts for a reply because that is one hell of a blank check he just got offered. “You know, you should be careful about making open ended offers like that because I just might take you up on it.” He says this quietly.

Clint hears Coulson’s teeth click as he shuts his mouth a few times. He almost laughs at making him speechless. The response is well worth the wait. “Good, ‘cause I want ya to.”

Good lord. Phil actually has to make an effort to shut his body down before he starts winding back up again. What the hell is he, a teenager all of the sudden? No, enough. “Mm. I will keep that in mind.” He finally says, willing himself not to start to fall asleep, fingers stroking along Clint’s spine lightly. “I don’t understand why a fuckin’ gorgeous creature like you would be interested in an old battles carred man like me, but I’m not going to argue.”

Clint drops his gaze as his ears redden and the flush spreads over his shoulders and neck. “I, uh, ‘m not…” He’s clearly embarrassed by Phil’s words. Shifting down a bit more, he hides his face in the older man’s neck. He tightens his grip around Phil’s waist. “I’m scarred like you, sir, an’ I like yer scars. They tell me about ya, about yer accomplishments, yer trials… I think yer admirable an’ brave an’ if given the chance I would take as much time as I need ta trace every scar ya have with my tongue an’ kiss them too.”

Phil smiles warmly, lifting a hand so his fingers can play on the back of Clint’s neck, over the small swells that hold ink, and into his hairline. “I suppose that’s true for both of us. Scars are trophies of success or dumbassery, or sometimes both.” He’s always thought of scars as beautiful things, signs of victory, of overcoming something or someone.“As for that last thing, well, you don’t even have to ask. It’s not like I’m going to argue such a thing.”

Clint kisses Phil’s chest, dragging his lips over smooth skin and sparse hairs. His eyes are shut as he memorizes the feel of his lover’s chest. His lower lip catches on the raises of deeper scars. He darts his tongue out to trace along various marks that his mouth encounters. He traces along more scars along Phil’s back and kisses up his neck. “Is there any scars I should avoid, s—Ph-Phil.”

Phil’s eyes fluttered, and he gave up and went mostly limp, letting himself arch into the attention. His skin twitches and goosebumps under the attention, breath becoming slow and labored. He’s quickly going from relaxed to mind-numbingly horny again and he only hoped that was the overall effect Clint was going for… “Mmn. No, not that I can think of. You have free reign, beautiful.” He murmurs, shuddering at the brush of lips along his neck.

Clint’s main goal—for the moment—isn’t round two. Not yet. He actually wants to take the time to memorize as much about Phil’s body as he can. Even though the older man had said it, he doubts that he’d actually get to do this again. Phil will wake up and realize what a mistake this is. Until then, Clint had free reign. He wants to commit his handler’s body to memory. He had already done it with sight, now he needs touch and taste.

“Good,” he continues his explorations of Coulson’s torso. He won’t admit even to himself that he felt his stomach flip when called ‘beautiful’. He pushes it from his mind. ‘It’s just a petname,’ he thinks, ‘he’s probably used it on others.’ He ignores the fact that Phil had called him such earlier, signing it off as something he might use while in ‘throes of passion’ or some other romantic shit that he very much doesn’t do.

Phil’s body shows a litany of combat and hard use, peppered with scars, some faded and well healed, some rough and discolored, and everything in between. Healed cuts, burns, and far too many healed gunshots. Some had been flesh wounds, others appear to be near-death experiences. None of them seem to bother him, he’s just luxuriating in the contact and attention, eyes barely open, moving as he’s prompted.

Clint shifts around Phil and coaxes him onto his stomach kissing over his side and along his spine. “You are an amazin’ man,” he whispers against a long scar near his shoulder blade. He noses along the dip near his shoulder. “You know that, right? You’re brave an’ unflappable in the field….” Clint sucks a love bite into his neck as he nuzzles behind Phil’s ear. “I admire ya for all your bravery, dedication, skill.”

Phil sprawls on his stomach, wide eyed and trembling just a bit, listening to Clint speak. He wants to believe none of it, of course. He knows he’s a bastion of calm in the field but… all of the compliments and praise in his direction, accompanied by the soft warm touches and kisses and oh god, that was another trophy bruise on his neck. He shuddered and closed his eyes. He didn’t know how to react. He had no baseline for this, and that wasn’t even accounting for the unspoken undercurrent in the words pouring over him.

He can’t shut up. He keeps up the soft rain of compliments as his hands and mouth travels over Phil’s arms and legs. The words don’t take long to switch from job-related things to waxing poetic about Phil’s eyes and hands and everything else. It’s a gentle and secretive way to tell the older man how much he’s in love with him without staying it blatantly and he just can’t get himself to shut up. Eventually, thankfully, he runs out of words as he kisses and nips along Phil’s hip. “Wanna turn over for me?”

He rolls over when asked, propping himself up on his elbows and looking at Clint, eyebrows drawn together. “Clint…” He doesn’t know what to say or ask. It’s an odd moment, for him, being this uncertain.

Clint is hesitant. He doesn’t know which he wants more, to suck more bruises into Phil’s skin or to keep up the gentle, almost romantic touches. He makes his decision quickly and kisses up Phil’s chest, lingering over his heart. He rests his cheek over Phil’s heart briefly and just listens to it beat. Kissing up his neck, Clint gently settles half-on Phil and strokes his hands over the older man’s ribs. He noses Phil’s jaw and tries (and fails) to keep the love-stuck look off his face.

Phil shudders again, wrapping his arms around Clint and stroking along the lines of his muscles, eyes lulled and just letting the younger man have full run of his body. When his jaw is nosed, he shifts and turns his head, ducking a bit to catch him for a kiss. He saw the look, soft and tender and warm, and he’s sure his face reflects something similar. His heart his beating far too fast for how relaxed he is.

He tries to ignore his excited pulse and the accompanying flutter low in his gut (which he is far too old to feel so that’s definitely being ignored!), and keeps the kiss gentle, fingers tracing abstract patterns on Clint’s shoulder blades.

Clint lays against Phil, completely boneless. He can’t help it one bit and he doesn’t think he would if he could. This is too nice. It doesn’t matter that he’s at SHIELD HQ, it doesn’t matter that it’s probably almost one in the morning, it doesn’t matter that he has to leave  for a job soon either. He’s just happy to be here.

The kiss is too sweet, too gentle to be a result of this casual fling. This is leading to something more, something Clint hadn’t dared to believe he’d ever have. And here it is in his grasp. He’d seen the expression on Phil’s face and his heart is in his throat over it.

Phil lets the kiss ease out and just snuggles Clint close, leaning their faces together for a moment then shifting to rest his cheek on top of his archer’s head. He sighs softly, utterly comfortable and relaxed. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t trust what he would say if he opened his mouth. He’s honestly not sure what would come out, unbidden.

Clint, if he were a little less groggy, would be shocked at the fact that he’s being held and cuddled by this strong and usually intimidating man. Instead he feels warm and safe. He shifts slightly to litter faint kisses along the older man’s throat. He dares to call this moment perfect to himself.

He can’t even find his voice to say anything. What could he say to Phil anyway?

Phil gets an arm free and reaches up behind them (careful not to dump Clint onto the floor with their semi-limited space) and grabs a blanket that’s folded up on the back of the couch. He shakes it open before wrapping them both up in it, settling down fully afterwards and humming softly to himself. Because if they’re going to cuddle they’re going to be comfortable, dammit, even as he quashes the needy ache low in his body. “So. Next time I really think I’d like you to spend the night at my place. Sleep in my bed.” His voice is barely a murmur.

Clint smirks up at him hazily. “If by ‘next time’ ya mean after round two?” He stretches slowly and nudges the end of Phil’s nose with his own. “I thought we could be nauseatin’ for a bit an’ then go to yer place… for a vigorous second try ta make sure I can’t walk t’morrow.”

Phil snickers and returns the nudge. “I am very, very okay with that. My place isn’t anything really impressive, but I do have an awesome bed.” For this moment though, he’s perfectly content to lay where he is, snuggled on the couch and being the subject of Clint’s lazy affectionate gaze.

“I’m with ya on the not impressive, but I also haven’t used mine in a while an’ don’t feel like gettin’ dust e’rywhere.” Going to Phil’s place meant a lot less sneezing for starters. He kisses along Phil’s throat, just soft brushes of his lips. The older man is warm and his skin is smooth…. Clint could content himself with doing just this for a while.

Phil tilted his head to give Clint more room, sighing softly and enjoying the gentle affection, humming a bit. After a few minutes his eyes have drooped dangerously, and he’s self aware enough to know his breathing has lulled. “I am going to fall asleep if we don’t move.” He eventually murmurs.

Clint chuckles low in his chest, a soft rumble. “All right, I get the hint.” He playfully slaps Phil’s thigh lightly. “C’mon. Up, up.” He carefully pushes himself up onto his knees and stretches his arms up over his head lethargically. He grins down at Phil, knowing his entire body is taut and easily on display for the older man. He winks down at him. “This help wake ya up a bit, sir?”

Phil quirks an eyebrow at this display, rolling back slightly and enjoying the view, letting his eyes tick up the rises and dips of muscle and bone. What the hell did he do to deserve this piece of beauty in his life? The arms over Phil’s head have one logical conclusion as to what he should do next. He pushes up to a seated position, grinning. “A bit.”

Clint’s mouth waters at watching his… watching Phil watch him. He clasps his hands behind his neck, his muscles flexing slightly as the older man sits up. He’s not expecting the older man to pounce on him, or the tickling hands, but he has very good control. He’s not nearly drowsy enough to allow himself to be ticklish. “Sorry, sir, not ticklish. I’m a hardass through an’ through.” He smirks at him cheekily.

“Ah, damn. Worth a try.” Phil snorts, hands just trailing for a moment then dropping away as he pushes off the couch and stretches out, going into a twist and grunting when his back cracks. That done, he starts rounding his clothing back up, humming to himself.

There is one spot where Clint is ticklish no matter what he tries but there is no way that he’s going to willingly tell Phil that the bottom of his feet are his weak point. However, he hopes that Phil is smart and realizes that he’d probably kick him in the face if he did. He really doesn’t want to break his nose on accident.

“Wait,” Clint stands after Phil and reaches out for his hips after he grabs his clothes. He pulls the older man flush, back to his chest, and kisses the nape of his neck. “Mkay,” he murmurs against Phil’s skin. “Now ya can get dressed.” He steps back with a grin. He shouldn’t be doing little things like that but he can’t bring himself to stop either.

Phil smiles and leans back lightly against Clint’s body, bowing his head when the kiss is pressed to his skin. He smiles at Clint over his shoulder, stepping back into his pants and shrugging into the shirt, doing the buttons back up and tucking it in. That’s as far as he bothers though, the tie and jacket stay off, hell the shirt’s top few buttons hang undone leading to a lazily open collar. Clothes back on as much as he cares, he steps back into Clint and tugs him into a gentle kiss, smiling.

Truth be told, Clint enjoys watching Phil get dressed almost as much as he enjoys the reverse. It’s something about his movements, the efficiency and the shift of muscle. He gets so lost in it that he’s still nude when the older man pulls him into another kiss. The textures of the fabric against his skin are definitely interesting, but he pulls back because if he gets any interesting fluids on Phil’s clothes… well. He’s just going to have to be patient for when they get out of here. “Lemme get dressed,” he chuckles.

Phil has to laugh. “Probably a good idea.” He steps away and finds his keys, watching Clint move and just admiring the sight again. He wishes again, fleetingly, that he’d spoken up sooner. Said something. But then that wouldn’t make this nearly so special, would it? To him, at least, that Clint actually came forward and said something and in such frank terms is nothing short of amazing.

And as far as he’s concerned, he’s glad that Clint is getting dressed because he’s not so sure he wants anyone else to see him like that, nude and relaxed and happy. That feels like a sight that’s all his, and he’s keeping it.

Clint is the master of getting clothed in under two minutes, but doesn’t feel the need to rush. Sure, he plans on coaxing Phil into fucking him again—preferably a bit rougher than before—but there is no need to be hasty. If he can get him wired up before he can touch him again, well, hopefully that will help bring an edge to all that. “C’mon, lets get outta here before we leave incriminatin’ evidence where other people can find it.” He’ll never be able to look at Coulson’s couch the same way again.


End file.
